


in another life (I would make you stay)

by tiniestawoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Peter Hale, F/M, Feels, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Peter Hale has actual emotions, Rimming, Top Chris Argent, and Peter is mostly responsible for the bad choices, its pretty tame, some Wolfy dynamic stuff, there's lots of consent, young!chris/young!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: Peter pointedly kept his eyes on the basketball game for a long time after that, sipping ineffective liquor and ignoring the scent of the man beside him, who had, long ago, on another planet, in another lifetime, been everything to him. The young man he’d been then, in Chris’ first apartment almost twenty years ago, had died in the fire with the rest of his family. The young man Chris had been then had died with his mother, when he’d fallen more firmly into Gerard’s clutches, married Victoria, and started a family like a good heir.--Or the one where Peter lost his virginity to Chris Argent, and a chance meeting in a bar sparks memories neither of them intended to think about.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Melissa McCall (mentioned), Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Victoria Argent
Comments: 21
Kudos: 161





	in another life (I would make you stay)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the blame for this fic is split between. 
> 
> [this](https://those-who-fall.tumblr.com/post/616319227070136320/halbarryislife-you-werent-the-first-wolf-to)
> 
> and then the rest is my own fault because I couldn't not write this. And then someone on the discord asked for Peter losing his virginity to Chris and here we are.
> 
> Chris is 42, Peter is 36 in the "present" and then they're 17 and 23 in the "past"
> 
> also it was briefly called 'the one that go away' before my brain started working.

There weren’t many places in Beacon Hills. Period. End of sentence. The town was small, so small that, at times, it felt suffocating. Sure, there were the new apartment buildings that were being built in what was someone’s definition of a “downtown”, the school had gotten a face lift, and some _generous donors_ had paid for an addition to the hospital. They could do all the new construction they wanted to, but it wouldn’t erase the scars on the town. Scars, burns, bullet holes, floors of abandoned warehouses stained with blood, they would live on forever in the memories of the people who lived them.

Peter wondered, for approximately the tenth time in the last forty-eight hours, and the 57th time that month, why he was still in this shit hole town. Derek and Stiles were gone, headed back east on some bullshit mission to ‘clear Derek’s name’, Scott and Lydia had finally left for college, and Malia had made her way to France (on Peter’s dime, thanks very much). There were no active threats to Beacon Hills, there was none of Peter’s elusive _family_ left in town, and really, no reason whatsoever for him to be sitting on an uncomfortable bar stool at one of the shittiest, if not well-loved, bars in Beacon Hills on a Saturday night.

The bar was mostly empty, a digital jukebox in the corner crooning out whatever the couple of rough-looking out of towners picked while they played pool at the beat-up table. A few of the Sheriff’s deputies were sat in a corner booth sipping drinks from a pitcher. The hellhound one had given Peter a particularly accusatory look when he walked in, as if by his very presence he was committing some kind of atrocity.

The _bar_ was the atrocity in this scenario, honestly.

And yet, here he was, on the third of his overpriced and ineffective drinks, eyes flicking idly between a basketball game on one TV and a boxing match on the other, listening half-heartedly to the deputies conversation and pointedly tuning out the music. When he was a younger man, he’d flinched every time the door opened, anxious to glance behind him to see if the person walking into the bar was a threat, but at this point in his life, he’d outlived so many of his so-called enemies that he no longer bothered.

So, it was his own fault when the scent of wolfsbane and hunter filled his nostrils, and he felt a line of body heat fill up the previously empty space of the bar stool next to him. He turned his head slowly, eyes moving from calloused, broad fingers to the sleeve of a leather jacket, and finally up to a grey-and-brown speckled beard attached to a face Peter knew far better than he should. Blue-grey eyes stared back, lips quirked into a bemused grin. “Christopher.” He said casually, the corners of his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile.

“Peter.”

\--

Sneaking out of his parents house, by the age of 17, was child’s play for Peter. He had his own room on the ground floor, a window with well-oiled hinges, and a convenient bed of mulch below it for him to land soundlessly on. Once he was out of the house, it was nothing to shift and move across the ground silently, like the predator he was. It had been difficult for a while there, Talia’s youngest spawn a colicky little boy who cried unendingly, but he was now a five-year old who was at least capable of sleeping through the night, which was great, because 17-year-old Peter had a lot more reasons to sneak out of the house.

Or, more specifically, one good reason to sneak out of the house.

One really hot reason to sneak out of the house.

Peter had triple checked the address he’d written down after his phone call earlier and did his best to find the apartment building. Once he did, he followed a familiar scent trail up the metal fire escape towards the sound of a heartbeat that could send his own racing. Tucked inside a room on the second level, resting on the bed, back against the wall, smirking, hands resting lazily atop his head, broad shoulders pulling at the tight T-shirt he was dressed in, was Christopher Argent.

Peter smirked back from the window, climbing through it and then sauntering forward with all the grace (ha) of a teenage werewolf, and dropped to his knees on the bed next to Chris, one hand lifting to trace the curve of the muscles in Chris’ shoulder, fingers moving up to the hunter’s neck and then Peter’s hand splayed across his face. “Christopher.” He said softly, leaning close.

“Peter.” Chris replied before he leaned forward to take Peter’s lips in a kiss that was as commanding as it was loving, Chris’ arms dropping to encircle Peter’s shoulders. “I missed you.” He breathed against the other’s lips.

Peter let out a huff of a breath, “You missed me? You’re the one who decided to move out of his dad’s house and then had to go off to who knows where to _hunt_.” The word fell of his tongue like a curse, and he was unable to resist the sneer his lip curled into.

“That’s not fair.” Chris countered, “You know how it works, Peter. I start refusing my Dad’s orders, he starts snooping into my personal life. It’s better this way.” Chris didn’t give Peter a chance to respond, kissing him again, tugging him in closer so that Peter was straddling Chris’ hips.

It was, as much as Peter wished it was not, better this way. Chris played the part of dutiful son, went on the hunts his father ordered him to go on, killed the creatures he was ordered to kill, and in return, he got his freedom. Gerard rarely paid attention to Chris’ comings-and-goings. Especially now that Chris had his own apartment, it would make spending time together that much easier. Peter rocked himself against Chris, hands moving to grip as much as he could at the close-cropped blond hair. “The bed _is_ nice, I suppose.”

Chris chuckled against Peter’s lips, rolling them fluidly so that Peter was pressed back against the pillows with Chris between his legs, Peter hard against his hip. “You can’t be that mad at me.” He whispered, kissing a trail from Peter’s lips over to his ear, his tongue tracing the shell of it before the kisses moved towards his neck. A chill went down Peter’s spine as he tilted his head back, baring his neck for a _hunter._

“You could make it up to me.” Peter murmured, in a tone that he swore sounded confident and suave and definitely not breathy and needy.

“How would you like me to do that?” Chris asked, his lips hovering over Peter’s collarbone, body held on his elbows.

“You could fuck me.” Peter said, cocking an eyebrow in challenge. He saw the mental gymnastics (and very likely mathematics) going on in Chris’ head. “ _Please._ ”

Chris groaned, quietly, but more than audibly to Peter, biting down against Peter’s collarbone, dragging a sharp ‘fuck’ from Peter. “You’re a menace.”

Peter smirked, dragging his tongue over his lips, blue eyes meeting blue-grey, “You love it.”

\--

Chris had known that as soon as he walked into the bar to see Peter Hale perched on a stool, he should have turned around and gone back home. But home was empty. A lonely, impersonal apartment stuffed to the brim with guns and ammunition and _ghosts._ He could have gone to Melissa’s, but her house was no better these days, now that Scott was off at school and she was working more night shifts, taking the burden off of younger nurses with families to raise.

So, he’d found his way here, to a shitty bar in what passed as a downtown district. The bar served decent quality whiskey and called it top-shelf, was usually mostly empty, and, if Chris asked, the barkeep was all too happy to put on whatever UFC fight was on that night. There was something visceral about watching two men hit each other. It pleased a subconscious, if well trained, part of Chris that enjoyed watching that kind of brutality, hitting each other on television for the entertainment of others. It felt like a sort of slow-motion self-destruction.

Self-destruction pretty similar to what had been offered to him all those years ago by Peter Hale.

And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he’d kept walking, taken the seat next to the werewolf, waved at the barkeep and held still while those blue eyes – cunning, knowing, _endlessly blue_ eyes tracked up his arm to his face. Peter had aged gracefully, as beautiful now as he had been then. And the way his name – his full name, the pretentious bastard -- rolled off of his lips was enough to send chills down Chris’ spine.

“Melissa must be working then.” Peter said, turning his head back to the TV, though Chris was fairly certain his attention was anywhere but the television.

“I’m surprised you’re still in town.” Chris replied, ignoring the obvious bait. Peter was far from a stupid man. Asking about Melissa was an unsubtle way of trying to ascertain the status of their fledgling, undefined relationship, and that was not a game Chris was going to play with Peter Hale.

“Me too.” Peter said, overemphasizing both words, twirling a melting ice cube around in a mostly-empty glass. “I suppose I don’t know where else to go.”

Chris gave that a sharp inhale and took the glass from the bartender when it was offered. “Don’t you need to find an alpha? So you keep your mind intact?”

Peter glanced around them, likely determined nobody in this town gave a shit anymore, and turned to Chris, “I’m not some newly bitten wolf, Christopher. I’ve had years of practice being on my own.” The quiet thanks in part to you, and in part to your sister was unvoiced, but rang loudly through Chris’ head anyway. “My mind is perfectly intact.”

“You could always ask Scott.” Chris said, taking a drag from the drink, the whiskey burning its way down his throat. “With all the… assistance… you’ve provided, the least he could do is be your alpha.”

“I will not be a beta to Scott McCall.” Peter said, laughing quietly. “Is this the kind of thing you get your entertainment from these days, Christopher? Picking on little old me after everything that’s happened to me.”

“You brought a lot of it on yourself.”

“Ah yes.” Peter said, turning away, accepting another drink from the bartender, “What a _menace_ I am.”

__\--_ _

Chris rolled his eyes because yes, he did love it. He was long past the time of questioning his undeniable attraction to the werewolf. He pressed himself forward, bringing his lips back to Peter’s, one hand carding through the younger man’s hair. “Are you sure?” He asked.

“Very.” Peter replied, sounded reasonably confident. Sometimes, in moments like right now, it struck Chris how young Peter was. Sure, he was brilliant, cocky, a tease, but he was still young. Chris had tried to be a perfect gentleman, had never pushed Peter beyond a limit, had always let him have the lead, and it was a lead Peter was happy to take. Chris wasn’t precisely sure how old Peter was, (a little voice in his head nagged that he could have found out but he didn’t want to know), but the younger man had come on to him, and Chris was fairly sure he would have been gutted (literally) if he’d ever done anything the werewolf wasn’t on board with.

At the moment, it didn’t matter, because Chris was back to sucking marks into Peter’s neck that would be gone in the morning light, unsubtly grinding himself against the bed when Peter nudged him with a knee. “Get on with it.” He said, winking.

Chris brought his knees back under him, reaching for the hem of Peter’s shirt, pulling it over his head. Peter reciprocated, hands lingering over the lines of muscle and occasional scar tissue that had already made its home on Chris’ body. Chris loved the look of quiet concentration on Peter’s face as he stared, watching the difference in how the skin on either end of the white scars pink went white and then red beneath the scratch of his nail, the scar tissue staying its pristine color. Chris shivered under Peter’s touch but chuckled, always amused at the younger’s fascination with scars.

(“Why are you so obsessed with this?” He’d asked one night, a few months ago.

“I’ve never had a scar.” Peter said, running his hands over the ones on Chris’ knuckles that had been there since he was a teenager himself. “And it’s not like any of the humans in the family are going to let me sit and investigate theirs.”

“There are humans in your family?” Chris asked, eyebrows pulling together. His father had never mentioned that.

“Yeah.” Peter said, shrugging a shoulder, “It’s a mix. Wolf genes are pretty strong, but it’s not 100%”

“Huh.” Peter hadn’t questioned Chris’ puzzled expression then.)

Chris pulled Peter out of his contemplation by reaching for the hem of Peter’s track pants, popping the elastic back down at the other, grinning when Peter let out a low growl. “Well, do you want them off or not?” The question was, of course, rhetorical, and Peter lifted his hips to ease the effort of Chris pulling the pants down over his hips, the obvious bulge of his cock against his underwear causing Chris to unconsciously lick his lips. Peter caught the movement and grinned, dragging Chris back down for a kiss before his hands abandoned the back of Chris’ head in favor of flicking open the button on his jeans.

Chris moved away then, drawing a high-pitched whine from the werewolf as he removed his own pants, digging through the nightstand for a condom and the lube. He tossed them down onto the bed before returning to the space between Peter’s legs. He pressed up so he was hovering over the werewolf, nuzzling against his neck and back up to his ear, Peter’s hands scratching at his back and shoulders as his hips rocked up, desperate for friction with anything.

Chris knew better than to tease, but having the wolf underneath him, whining, breathing heavily, scratching at him, and knowing that it was a beautiful kind of submission that was just for him was half the reason he was here. Peter had all the strength, claws, and fangs to tear him to pieces, but the rush of having him beneath Chris, begging for more, was intoxicating. His cheeks were flushed, pupils blown so wide Chris could hardly see blue, lips parted, just a hint of fang telling Chris all he needed to know about Peter’s current feelings about the situation. “You’re beautiful.” Chris whispered against Peter’s throat.

Peter exhaled sharply into Chris’ ear, and moaned, “Please” again, Chris’ cock throbbing in response to his voice.

“Roll over for me.” Chris said, leaning back to give Peter room to move.

\--

Peter pointedly kept his eyes on the basketball game for a long time after that, sipping ineffective liquor and ignoring the scent of the man beside him, who had, long ago, on another planet, in another lifetime, been everything to him. The young man he’d been then, in Chris’ first apartment almost twenty years ago, had died in the fire with the rest of his family. The young man Chris had been then had died with his mother, when he’d fallen more firmly into Gerard’s clutches, married Victoria, and started a family like a good heir.

Given the timeline, Peter’s affair with Corinne would have made sense, even if he no longer had the memories to confirm it. Malia was around the same age as Allison. It was childish, really, but then, Peter had been 18, and reeling from the loss of his relationship to Chris, to the man he loved. The person he’d been back then didn’t have the knowledge the Peter of today had. He didn’t know what a terror Gerard was, what a piece of shit Kate had become. He hadn’t burned alongside his family, lost his sanity and then been resurrected. Back then, something as juvenile as sleeping with a dangerous woman would have been exactly something Peter would do.

“I guess I should thank you.” Peter said, surprising both himself and Chris with the words. The hunter didn’t reply, simply took a sip of his drink and waited for Peter to elaborate, “I’m still, let’s call it fuzzy on the details, but without your choices, I likely wouldn’t have a daughter.”

Chris turned his whole body towards Peter at that, “Bold of you to call them choices.” He mused, lips pressed together. “As if anyone had much choice back then.”

Peter turned so his body faced Chris’, their knees knocking together slightly. “We could have left. We could have gone anywhere.”

“Peter, you were seventeen.” Chris sighed and looked away, “You were seventeen, you hadn’t even graduated high school yet. I wasn’t going to take you away from your family. What happened between us might not have been a shining moment for my character, but taking you away and keeping you from living your own life would have been a shitty thing for me to do.”

“Instead you just rolled over for your father, married _that woman_ and had a baby, just like Daddy wanted you to.”

“Have some respect.” Chris said, and Peter could smell the grief on him. The hunter turned away, facing out from the bar, leaning back on his elbows. “She wasn’t perfect, but she was my wife. And that baby.” Chris stopped, exhaling hard. “Allison was the best thing that ever happened to me. Having her was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

It stung. Peter knew that their affair, a teenage werewolf seducing a college-educated hunter, was far from a pretty decision, but Peter had never, in all his years, regretted a moment of it. Losing his virginity to Christopher Argent, falling head-over-heels in forbidden love, sneaking around, it had been a thrill and a joy and it was one of the bright spots in a shitty, mostly-forgotten adolescence. By the time he was in college, his father was dead, Talia was the alpha, and Talia’s precious children were the stars of the Hale family show.

And much like Chris had with his marriage to Victoria, much like Laura and Derek had, much like the situation Peter found himself in now, he’d been left behind, forgotten.

He dragged himself out of the overwhelming emotions, a fang catching the edge of his tongue to cause just enough pain to drag himself back into the present, the glass gripped dangerously tightly in his grasp. “I loved you.” Peter says finally, “Right, wrong, or indifferent, I did. You’re the only person I’ve ever truly loved, did you know that?”

“No, Peter, I didn’t.” Chris said, still looking away from the werewolf, watching the pool game that was happening.

\--

Peter had never been so relieved as he was in that moment, rolling over for Chris, resting on his elbows with his ass in the air, presenting for him. It felt dirty, dangerous, risky. He felt exposed, especially once Chris’ hands dragged his boxer briefs down his legs, the cool air of the room his superheated skin, Chris’ warm fingers leaving trails that Peter knew he’d be able to smell for days if it wasn’t for the inevitable shower he’d need to take before he returned home. His cock was so hard where it hung between his legs, and Peter shifted his weight so he could bring one hand to wrap around it, only to find that hand batted away by Chris’.

“Just wait.” Chris said, breathing into the skin of Peter’s thigh, biting down lightly at the flesh there.

“I’m a werewolf. I’ll get hard again.”

“No.” Chris’ voice held more weight that time, and Peter dropped his arm back down, planting his face into the pillow, drinking in Chris’ scent.

All of the breath he had just dragged in came tumbling back out in a near-shout of the hunter’s name when his ass cheeks were gently spread, and the warm flat of a tongue pressed against this hole. Peter had, of course, seen this particular act in porn, had healthy masturbatory habits for a teenager, but the feeling of Chris’ tongue on his hole had him coming with a shout, whimpering apologies into the pillow, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Chris chuckled behind him, pleased with himself. “Guess we’ll test that theory after all.” It wasn’t really a theory, Peter knew it took exactly two minutes and thirty seconds between an orgasm and his cock starting to harden again. God bless werewolf refractory periods. Chris, it seemed, wanted to see if he could break the record, as he pressed his tongue back against Peter’s hole, this time in short, jabbing motions, pressing through the tight ring of muscle and leaving plenty of saliva in its wake.

Peter jolted when the hot tongue was swapped for a comparatively cooler fingertip, pressing just beyond the ring of muscle into his ass. It felt…odd. Not unpleasant, but not pleasant either. The click of the lube bottle was Peter’s only warning before the single digit was replaced with a different, much slicker digit, that was meaningfully crooked in such a way that had Peter keening back against the pillows, his cock immediately at attention.

(He was pretty sure that was less than two and a half minutes.)

Chris took his time, opening Peter up from one finger to two, and by the time Peter felt the stretch-burn of the third finger, his hips were unconsciously rocking back against Chris’ lubed fingers, his cock twitching for purchase against anything. _“Please.”_ He whined again, a low, lupine whine joining it from the back of his throat. His wolf loved this, loved Chris, wanted to be taken.

Chris obliged, and Peter heard the tearing of the condom wrapper and a mumble from Chris’ lips as he used lube-slicked fingers to roll the latex over his cock. More lube, and then Peter felt Chris’ hand on his hip, and Peter glanced back over his shoulder, catching sight of a red-faced, lust-drunk Chris smiling widely back at him. “You sure?” He asked, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. Peter just nodded, and then let his head fall back against the pillow as the blunt head of Chris’ cock pressed into him.

It was unsettling for a moment, and it took several for Chris to finally be pressed completely inside Peter, breathing heavily against his back, his breath coming in hot, wet bursts against Peter’s skin. Peter reveled in the feeling of fullness, of having Chris inside him like this. He rolled his hips back slowly, pressing against Chris’, all of his pretty words lost except for _“please”_ and “Christopher” and “fuck me.”

And Chris did, first with short, shallow thrusts that built to a faster pace, one of Chris’ hands leaving Peter’s hip to wrap around the werewolf’s cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Despite it being his second orgasm, it took only minutes of the combined, overwhelming sensations for Peter to come again, crying Chris’ name against the pillows, the hunter following him into orgasm after a few more hard thrusts, burying himself into Peter’s ass, his back arched so that his forehead rested against Peter’s back.

A few moments later, when Chris pulled away, Peter’s knees – approximately the consistency of jello – went out from under him, and he winced as he landed in a puddle of his own spunk, but too tired overall to move. Chris landed next to him, rolling Peter onto his side so his back was pressed into the hunters broad, warm chest. Peter snuggled in, pressing a kiss to Chris’ bicep. “I love you.” He whispered.

He did love Chris. He loved him for his laugh and his bravery, for his acceptance of Peter’s wolf and his willingness to go against his father’s desires, if secretly, to be with Peter. He loved his eyes and his smile and his scars.

Peter had almost fallen asleep, and for years after, would wonder if it had been a dream, but he swore he heard Chris quietly respond, “I love you, too.”

\--

Seconds felt like hours as the silence hung in the bar between the two men. In the background, a hundred miles away it felt like, music still played, the table of sheriff’s deputies still spoke quietly about their lives. The pool balls still smacked against one another, pool sticks were tapped along the floor in time with the beat of the music.

Peter had clearly tuned it all out, all of the attention of the werewolf focused on him. “Did you love me?” He asked. “Or was I just your last act of rebellion?”

Chris drained the last of his drink, wishing he’d had two, three, four more, or that he’d just turned around and walked out of the bar when he’d seen him. The wish, the desire, shifted, as he turned his body, angled back towards Peter, cocked his head to the side and studied him, watched the tick of the corner of his mouth as he waited, impatiently for a response. He studied the tension in the curve of his shoulders, his body strung tight like the string of his daughter’s bow, locked away in a vault where Chris never had to look at it again.

His wishes, to get away, to be anywhere but here, faded away, replaced by years-old memories, by the futile desires of a young hunter who wished he had been brave enough to turn his back o his family, to give his werewolf lover everything he deserved. He’d folded, like a house of cards, to his father’s desires, afraid of retribution, afraid of what would happen to Peter, to the Hales, if the truth had come to light, unaware that the destiny of the Hale family was already set into motion, the too-observant eyes of his baby sister coupled with the maniacal ravings of his father.

Chris leaned forward, too close, so close to Peter, “I loved you.” He said, his voice deep, breathy, laced through with anguish. “I loved you so much that I gave you up because I thought it would keep you safe.”

“Well, we can see where that got us.” Peter said, before he closed the space between their lips.

**Author's Note:**

> [come chat with me on Tumblr!](https://those-who-fall.tumblr.com)


End file.
